Trouble in Paradise
by LOTR-nutcase
Summary: Eomer and Lothiriel are married, but things are far from idyllic. Will meddling relatives and nosy friends will soon have things to rights? Or will fear and doubt prevail?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I watched Jerry Maguire again tonight. So now I have to write. I have to. I have no choice. The only problem is what? I have a story due in a week for a class that I should be working on…but something in me demanded fanfiction tonight. So here it is. Hope someone likes it!

(And yes, if you've read The Chase, I'm calling this girl Ria as well. It's not a sequel, I just like that name better than writing Lothiriel over and over. :)

* * *

Ria stared at her husband and wondered if she'd made a horrible mistake. After all, they barely knew each other. Everyone had called it a whirlwind courtship. The women had sighed over how romantic it all was and the men had nodded approvingly over the political sensibility the princess was showing. If that was so, she now wondered, why could she not swallow a bite of her own wedding cake? Why could she barely look Eomer in the eye?

She felt sick. "Please excuse me for a moment," she murmured indistinctly as she shoved her chair back and fled the table. Suddenly the great hall of Meduseld seemed stiflingly hot. Ria pushed her way through the crowd and fumbled with the first door handle she came to. To her dismay, she found that her hands were shaking. With each moment she grew more and more agitated, until she felt a tear fall down her cheek.

"May I ask why you are suddenly so desperate to see the wine cellar, Ria?" The low caress of her husband's voice directly over her left shoulder shocked Ria into jumping and whirling around to face him. At the sight of Eomer, she tried to relax, but found herself stiffening even more. "What's wrong?" He asked, a look of concern crossing his face.

"I needed a breath of air so I…I must have gotten the wrong door," Ria began to explain absently. She faded off when she realized that her husband was very competently ushering her though the throng of guests to a door she now recognized as leading outside.

The sight of the starts twinkling in the endless sky of Rohan calmed her a bit. But only a bit. "Do you think this was a mistake?" Ria blurted out.

"Do you?"

"I asked you first."

Eomer sighed, but there was a distinct note of amusement in his voice when he answered. "No, I do not, but I can see where you might think so."

"You do?"

"Yes."

Ria was suspicious. "How?"

"Our courtship was quite short, and our engagement lasted barely a month. Now we are married. You must be wondering about your role here- if not as queen of Rohan then as my wife. A wedding night is before you, followed by uncertain days of growing used to life here."

"Oh." Ria was silent for a moment. "You are quite observant, my lord, but there is one matter you left out."

"We are married now, Ria, I think we have progressed beyond the 'my lord' and 'my lady' stage. What did I leave out?"

"The matter of love."

* * *

_Three Months Later_

Faramir was frustrated with his brother-in-law. Aragorn was frustrated with his good friend. Eomer was frustrated with his wife.

They were all sitting around a table full of maps and mugs of ale. What had started off as a strategic planning session had quickly degenerated to a discussion of the King of Rohan's marital problems, much to his discomfort and Faramir's and Aragorn's amusement. Three months after his wedding even Eomer, who had been completely optimistic about the state of things at first, had to admit that there were problems. He blamed them on Lothiriel.

Aragorn and Faramir knew about the fights. It was hard to misinterpret the tension that constantly hung between the newlyweds. They were reluctant to talk to each other and, it appeared, only did so in public. While Lothiriel was fulfilling her new duties as Queen of the Mark admirably, she was noticeably reticent to spend any more time than absolutely necessary with the King.

What Aragorn and Faramir didn't know was that the marriage had not even been physically consummated.

"I tried. For two months I tried every day to make her happy, to make her relax and smile and laugh the way she did in Dol Amroth. But I could not. So I stopped trying and things are as you see them." Eomer raked a hand through his hair and took a drink of ale. He was a man used to winning everything. If something was not easy to attain, why he went after it with a vengeance. He usually relished the challenge.

Not in this case. "Something must have happened. What did you fight about?" Aragorn asked. Faramir watched his brother-in-law quietly.

Eomer sighed. "She was experiencing some anxiety early on, and she asked me if I thought our marriage was a mistake. I told her no, I did not, but that I understood why she was having second thoughts. Then she asked me if I loved her."

"Please tell me you said yes," Faramir spoke up.

Grimacing, Eomer shook his head. "No, I was brutally, horribly honest. I said that while I did not think I loved her in the traditional sense, I had been deeply impressed and moved by her character and personality, and that I was utterly convinced a union between us would be a wise decision."

"Let me guess. She did not take kindly to that." Aragorn tried to hide a grin.

"She accused me of deceiving her, of leading her on, and of marrying her under false pretenses."

Faramir leaned forward. "Did you?"

"No!" Two pairs of skeptical eyes stared back at Eomer. "All right, I was charming, and I was persuasive, but I never said the phrase 'Ria, I love you' and she never asked."

"Oh, no, you didn't say _that_, too, did you?"

Silence.

"Very well, I should have been up front with her from the beginning. But that doesn't matter! I care for Ria a great deal, and we _are_ married now. How can I earn her forgiveness?"

Aragorn thought a moment. "Grovel."

"Yes, groveling generally works," Faramir added.

"I will not beg from my own wife!"

Assuming a vaguely superior air, Aragorn threw an arm over Eomer's shoulders. "Ah, but you see, my dear friend, marriage does not work very well when the parties involved are reluctant to lay eyes on one another."

* * *

**AN:** Bad stop, I know. Next up: Ria's opinion on all this, and then the fun will begin! Maybe. Anyway, please review, let me know what you think, and any ideas you have for future scenes/ subplots/ anything. Thanks! 


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Thanks soo much for all the reviews! I appreciate it. And I apologizing for this chapter being so slow in coming…life is chaotic and whatnot. Sort of.

PS: My vision of Eomer in this story is a lot like Brad Pitt in 'Seven' only with longer hair. Just so you know. ;)

In another wing of the palace, a dark-haired young woman paced the floor of her room. Occasionally she would pause to stare out her windows at the sunset, but with a sigh she would turn and begin pacing again.

Lothiriel of Dol Amroth- _no_, she corrected herself, _it's of Rohan now, however much I don't like it_- had truly expected better of herself. Honestly. She'd known her marriage was politically expedient; she'd been fond of her future husband; and she'd been eager to escape the confines of her own city and see another part of the world. Talk of marriage and weddings had filled the air at the time, those expressions of love a direct contrast to the horrors the world had seen in the years previous. Lothiriel's cousin, Faramir, had wed Eowyn of Rohan, Eomer's sister. Lord Aragorn, the King of Gondor blessedly returned to them, had married Arwen Undomiel, the elf-maiden who had held his heart for many years, soon after assuming the throne. It had seemed only natural that Lothiriel and Eomer follow suit.

Everyone had sworn that they would be perfect for each other and in her rush to do what she felt would truly begin her life as an adult, away from the protective gaze of her father and brothers, Lothiriel had accepted the judgment of her friends without much thought until suddenly (and, annoyingly, _after_ the vows were said) she had realized, on her wedding night, that she did not know the man she had married at all. Oh, she knew _about_ him, all right, and it was all spectacular information about war exploits and bravery and being a wonderful ruler that the people called 'Blessed', but she didn't _know_ him. Not the way wives should know husbands. And then, in her panicked state, she'd been stupid enough to ask if he _loved_ her when she already knew the answer!

As always, when she thought back to her wedding night, Lothiriel winced in embarrassment. She'd known he couldn't _really_ love her, not after so short a time, but she'd just had to ask! And once she actually _heard_ him say he didn't love her, her pride got in the way and ruined everything, as it had a habit of doing. Oh, how could she have been so naïve? Such a foolish little romantic?

So now she had wasted three months of her life behaving childishly. _Mother would be disappointed in me,_ Lothiriel thought. It was the ultimate shame. The entire population of Rohan probably thought she hated her husband (he certainly did), but they were wrong. No, she didn't hate him, she was just so embarrassed over her own behavior that after the initial wounded pride had healed, she couldn't be around Eomer without reliving her humiliation. She couldn't see his face without thinking what he must think of her, a silly little girl, barely out of the school room, possessed of great romantic fantasies. So instead of making peace, she'd driven him further away.

For the past three months, Lothiriel had been able to live with that. But coming to Minas Tirith, and being in the presence of the wildly passionate and successful marriages of her cousin and her liege-lord, had been like a bucket of cold water thrown over her. _Her_ marriage was a disaster, everyone knew it, and she had only herself to blame.

But what was she going to do about it?

If she had been at home, Lothiriel would have gone outside for a walk along the shore. In Rohan, she would have taken a horse out for a good long ride through the countryside. Here in Minas Tirith, she would have to settle for either a brisk walk through the city or a meandering stroll in the gardens. Grimacing at the thought of trying to think amidst the clatter of the city, she sat down on her bed and pulled on a pair of walking boots. It would have to be the garden.

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An hour later, Lothiriel was just as far from a viable solution as she had been earlier. Oh, she knew what she _should_ do. She _should_ walk up to Eomer and say, "I'm sorry for my behavior, husband. I had no right to take out my fears and insecurities on you. Please forgive me."

Unfortunately, that would require that she not only talk to the man, but apologize to him as well. Both things that were, humiliatingly but nevertheless, difficult for Lothiriel to do. It wasn't that she was afraid of Eomer, exactly; it was just that he was so…so very _vital_. So elemental, and intense, and older than she was. It had been thrilling and attractive during their courtship, yet now, in such close proximity, it made her uneasy.

_Not,_ she admitted to herself, _that it isn't **still** both thrilling and attractive!_

By now Lothiriel had reached the far corner of the park-like garden. The cobbled pathway was older-looking here, with more grass growing between the stones. The trees were thick, almost forest-like, and the ground between them was uneven and deeply carpeted with leaves. She found herself wondering what a place like this was doing in the middle of a bustling city. Then something caught her eye.

There, off to her left, was an ancient weeping willow. Through the tree's leaves Lothiriel could make out a standing figure, but it was too dark to distinguish any details. She looked back at the lamps that dotted the pathway behind her, then again toward the willow. Surely there was nothing to worry about…after all, she was in the King's gardens. Shrugging, she stepped off the path and into the forested area.

Where she promptly tripped and fell face-first into a puddle of cold, dirty water.

Muttering expletives she'd learned from her brothers, Lothiriel propped herself up and tried to get to her feet. A twinge of pain passed through her right knee and settled into a throbbing ache. She took a gingerly step and was relieved to find that she could walk in spite of the discomfort. _So much for the statue,_ she thought grimly, and headed back towards the palace.

Then the rain started.

By the time Lothiriel made it inside, her marital problems had been chased from her mind by one driving thought: a hot bath. The shower of rain had quickly grown into a full-fledged thunderstorm, complete with icy, gusting wind. Shivering, she limped into the palace's Western wing and leaned against the door in relief. She allowed herself a moment to enjoy being out of the wind before setting out toward her room.

No sooner had she made it out of the entryway than a footman spotted her. "My lady!" he cried, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, thank you, just a bit chilled. Could you please send someone to draw a hot bath in my room?"

"Of course, of course. But, Lady, you are limping! Please, wait here, I will send for your husband…"

"No!" Lothiriel interrupted, frantic. "The last thing I want is for him to see me like this. I'll be fine. Just…see to the bath, if you would be so good. I'll be in my room shortly." The footman nodded and turned to go, glancing at something over Lothiriel's shoulder just before he left. Beyond noticing such things, she took a few halting steps towards her chamber before being scooped up from behind by a pair of strong arms.

"What happened?" Eomer asked gruffly, setting off down the hall.

"Put me down! I'm all wet," Lothiriel began. She tried valiantly to touch as little of Eomer as possible, but the lure of his body heat was too much. She sank against his chest, grateful to be warm again.

"Did someone come after you? Are you hurt?"

"What? Oh, no, no one else was even there. I tripped and fell in a mud puddle and scraped up my knee or something, and then I got caught in the rain on the way back. Really, my lord, you don't need to carry me. I'm perfectly capable of walking," she said, secretly praying he would refuse. He was so very warm, after all.

"Your dress is torn, you're limping and you're covered with mud and blood and you tell me to let you walk? And please, Lothiriel, I beg of you, don't call me 'my lord' again."

"I'm sorry…Eomer."

"There, now, was that so bad?" She wasn't looking at his face, but she could hear the smile in his voice. Somehow it gave her courage.

"Not just about that….I'm sorry I've been so difficult, Eomer. I was…" Lothiriel's voice broke. Hot tears began falling down her face.

"Shh," he tried to sooth her. "I'm sorry, too, but let's wait until after you're warm and in bed before we have this talk, hmm?"

Lothiriel nodded mutely and buried her face against his tunic.


End file.
